


Just Another Day in Anvil

by Eleima



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-11-23 12:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20892224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleima/pseuds/Eleima
Summary: When an aspiring nightblade joins the Fighters Guild and meets the leader of the Anvil chapter, things get interesting.





	1. A Rat Problem

**Author's Note:**

> I'll keep this short, but the TL;DR version is that life got messy, but I'm writing again. Cooked up this short story for Camp NaNoWriMo back in April and it's complete. So I promise, you won't be left hanging, dear reader.

A cool, salty morning breeze drifted in Azzan's office on the third floor of Anvil's Fighter's Guild as he sat, head in his hands and elbows on his desk. The Redguard squeezed his eyes shut, taking a break from the reports that lay scattered on the wooden table. Reports on new recruits, reports on training sessions, reports on weapon stores, reports on bandit activity. Oh, how he missed field work. The hours spent training new recruits were just too few. The tedious paperwork always seemed never ending, but such was his lot since he'd become head of this chapter.

Just another day in Anvil.

A short rap at his office door startled him out of his momentary lapse of concentration, but it was a most welcome distraction. He sat back in his chair and called out, "Come!"

A short, slender Dunmer woman stepped partway in, and asked "I was told you would have work for me, is this a bad time?" She didn't seem hesitant, like most of the new recruits, and yet Azzan had never seen her before. Odd. He was fairly certain he knew most of the senior members of the Fighters Guild.

"Not at all," he replied as he gestured to the chairs across him. With a small nod, she strode across the room and took a seat. Her assurance, the way she moved, told him she'd seen battle before. This was no wide-eyed, naive woman looking for adventure. That made Azzan curious.

"I don't believe we've met before. I'm Azzan, as you probably know, head of the Anvil Fighters Guild chapter here in Anvil. Have you transferred from Morrowind?"

Her reply was measured, and careful, he noticed.

"Not exactly, no... I'm an Apprentice. I only joined a few days ago. Vilena Donton in Chorrol said I should see you." She held herself ramrod straight on her chair: clearly, he'd struck a nerve, so he focused on why she was here.

"Apprentice, huh? You must've met Burz then! How was your stay in Cheydinhal?"

A small smile played on her lips. "Good. Burz gro-Khash, he's... quite formidable."

"Ha!" Azzan barked a laugh. "'Formidable', eh? I suppose that's a polite way of saying 'gruff', but yes, he is at that." He sat back in his chair, crossing his fingers in front of his mouth as he gave it some thought. They had a few contracts on hold which might be suitable for a new recruit. "Well, what are your strengths? What weapons do you use?"

The Dunmer snickered, a surprising sound. She was definitely nothing like the new recruits Azzan typically saw. "Well..." She held up a hand to her face, and small flames started dancing on her fingertips.

The Redguard suppressed a wry smile. "Perhaps you have us mistaken for the Mages Guild?"

In a flash, the young woman had produced a small dagger which she placed on his desk. A split-second later, she had a short sword in hand. The flames still burned at the end of her fingers, never wavering. "Ever heard of nightblades?" she asked blankly.

Well, that explained the leather armor.

"Sure," replied Azzan. "But we don't get many." And then, just like that, he had it. The perfect assignment. Once again, he sat forward in his chair, gazing at her over the dagger and scattered reports. "I think I've got something that could suit your talents. Arvena Thelas has some problem with rats in her house."

"Rats." She echoed, disbelief clearly audible in the word.

"Yes, rats." He confirmed, struggling to keep the amusement from his voice. "She'll tell you more about the contract. Her house is right here in Anvil. Just across the street, actually."

"Rats. Alright then." As she got up and turned to leave, Azzan realized something.

"Wait, I don't think you gave me your name and Vilena hasn't sent me the list of new recruits for the week just yet."

The slender woman turned, the surprise clearly written on her narrow face and in her slanted eyes. "Oh. It's Maralie." That small smile touched her lips again, and Azzan smiled back.

It lasted only a second, and then she was gone, the door to Azzan's office closing behind her.

Just another day in Anvil, right?

~***~

Maralie lay in wait, crouched behind some shrubbery and backed up against the stone wall that enclosed the city of Anvil. This contract hadn't turned out at all like she'd planned. She'd expected to kill a few rats, clean out a cave or basement, rid the place of vermin. Instead, she ended up defending the beasts. From mountain lions, no less. After spending the afternoon beyond city limits with the hunter Pinarus Inventius, she'd managed to kill quite a few of them. Regardless, that wasn't enough to satisfy Arvena, and now she was here. In the woman's garden. Waiting for an Argonian to show up. Maybe.

She stifled a sigh and silently shifted her weight to the other foot. This contract wasn't at all what she'd expected. Anvil hadn't been anything like what she expected. And Azzan hadn't been anything like what she expected. Most Redguards she'd known had been serious folk, fierce warriors, and hardly prone to smiling, never mind laughter. Of course, the members of House Redoran were probably quite different from the rest of their people. Regardless, it was a nice change. After all that had happened in the past week, well... "Life changing" didn't even begin to define what had happened.

Maralie's hand slipped to one of her pockets, her fingers stroking the large gemstone of the Amulet of Kings. She hadn't quite decided what she would do yet, but eventually, she'd have to deal with it all. She could only run away for so long. Maybe on the way back from Anvil, she'd...

As the rustle of dead leaves brought her attention back to the dark garden, she promised herself she would try.

~***~

The afternoon had come and gone without Azzan being disturbed. He'd had a light midday meal in his office, as he often did. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy sharing meals with his fellow guildmates, but what was supposed to be a short break usually ended up being longer than he'd planned. It wasn't so much the quality of the food, but rather that of the company. Huurwen, Llensi, Rhano, Sten, Vigdis... They were all good people, committed to upholding the principles of the Fighters Guild and doing as much good in Tamriel as they could.

In a sense, they had become his family, a family to replace the father and sister he'd lost in Hammerfell. It might've seemed like an odd decision, rationing out time with people he loved, but the reports on his desk seemed even more numerous then they had been this morning. At least he could join his guildmates, now that the day was drawing to a close and dusk was almost upon them. It would soon be time to share the evening meal together, and that was always a pleasant affair. It also offered Azzan opportunities to seek counsel: more than once, new recruits arrived cowed and skittish in his office, but had been haughty and rude in the Guild Hall. That was not an attitude he wanted to condone in his Guild chapter.

It was with some relief that Azzan learned Maralie had acted with the others much as she had with him: quiet, yet confident. Prudent, but open. She definitely had potential. As a member of the Guild, of course.

He spent the evening training in the hall, trying to convince himself that he was just staying in shape, not watching for her return. As he retired to his quarters on the second floor, he wondered, _how long could solving a rat problem possibly take_?...


	2. The Unfortunate Shopkeeper

As Middas turned into Turdas, Azzan sat in his office again. He'd received Vilena's report on new recruits and Maralie was indeed on it. That was not the most interesting document on his desk, however. A copy of the Black Horse Courier lay on the top of the pile, with big black, bold letters spelling out "Assassination!"

Dire news for the Empire. Emperor Uriel Septim VII, as well as his sons, Crown Prince Geldall, Prince Enman and Prince Ebel, had been slain. All four of them. Leaving no direct heirs. Naming this a disaster didn't begin to cover the extent of it. Azzan knew, deep down, that it would mean unrest in the Empire for weeks, months, perhaps even years to come. In the meantime, there was little he could do but ensure that the Fighters Guild chapter in Anvil kept running smoothly.

He'd spoken to his guildmates that very morning, and they all mirrored his own feelings: concern, uncertainty, perhaps even fear. For the moment, day to day life had not changed, not in the chapter, not in the town. All Azzan could do was wait.

Setting aside the reports, the Redguard headed to the other side of the room, grabbing a bowl as well as some cheese and fruit. He sat at the small, round table beneath the window that overlooked the town square, gazing at the comings and going of townsfolk as he ate. For the most part, he performed his own chores, bringing up his own food, cleaning away the cutlery himself. Being head of chapter did afford for some perks, though, and Vigdis had apparently left him a bit of ham while he'd spoken with the others. He smiled. The seasoned Nord woman always enjoyed playing the mother bear to them all.

A sharp knock at his door drew him from his reverie, and when he replied "enter", the Dunmer recruit stepped in. Somewhat startled, he got halfway up before gesturing to the chair across from him.

She strode over and slumped into the offered chair, almost unceremoniously. Her gait had changed since last night: the confidence was still there, it was just... less controlled. She seemed tired, small, dark circles marring her gray skin beneath her eyes. He offered her some bread and ham, which she took with visible relief.

"Well, greetings to you too. I'm assuming things didn't exactly go as planned?"

"The rat problem," she said between mouthfuls, "was actually a mountain lion problem."

Azzan's eyebrows raised. "Mountain lions? Inside Anvil?"

She nodded emphatically as she cut off some cheese with her dagger. "In her basement, yes." She seemed to prioritize eating over giving her report and Azzan had to wait as she swallowed some bread. "And outside the city, but also in her garden."

Azzan sat back as he'd already had his fill. "They couldn't have just wandered in," he mused.

She shook her hair, sending small braids flying. "No. As it turns out, it was a matter of feuding neighbors. Qill-Weave didn't take too kindly to Arvena harboring rats in her basement and wanted to lure them out."

"Wait, she was what?" Azzan wasn't sure he'd heard that right, with all the crumbs flying.

She stopped eating at that, and looked at him blankly before one of the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a crooked grin. "Are you telling me you didn't know? The rats... They're Arvena's pets."

At the absurdity of it all, Azzan threw his head back in laughter. Arevna had always been a bit of an oddball here in Anvil, but he hadn't suspected just how much. As he wiped away a tear, he asked, "so what did you tell her? Arvena?"

"Oh." She seemed almost surprised at the question. "Well, nothing, I suppose. I didn't think it was my place." She'd become somber all of a sudden. "The mountain lions are gone, as was asked. Let them sort out their issues on their own."

He nodded, as she sat back in her chair and asked, "so... What now?"

Azzan's lips curled into a smile. "Well... What are you doing tonight?"

~***~

That _n'wah_ of a Redguard. Here she was, crouched and uncomfortable, sneaking around in the middle of the night. Again. All Maralie wanted was a decent night's sleep, but since she'd decided to head back to the Priory in Chorrol, she was in a hurry to finish this job.

Norbert Lelles had been forthcoming enough, and the contract seemed simple. Apparently, he'd been losing merchandise for months. Every now and then, he'd lock up for the night, goods would vanish and he'd replace them the next day. And the cycle would begin anew a few days later. How he'd managed to stay afloat all these months, Maralie could not even begin to imagine, but the merchant had had enough. To be fair, it was somewhat baffling. There would never be any signs of a forced entry, there were no windows on the first floor, and those on the second floor remained intact. Of course, there could be a host of different explanations: mark and recall spells, invisibility spells, or maybe just a really good thief with some chameleon armor.

There was the soft click of a key turning in the door's lock. She should've thought of that; there were also more mundane explanations. Maralie loosened her sword in its scabbard.

~***~

It was Turdas morning. Azzan's least favorite day of the week when he was a child. His father didn't like trading on Fredas and Loredas, it had been something of a tradition in the family. Turdas was just the last day of anticipation before those two favored days. He might not have liked lifting boxes and helping out with the family business when he was younger, but Azzan had to admit he missed it sometimes. Even if it wasn't actually the work and heavy lifting he missed so much as his father and sister.

He had very few memories of his mother. She'd passed away shortly after his sister Tierra was born. Azzan didn't really know what had happened exactly, since his father would not speak of it. Or of his mother. A quiet man, but nevertheless a shrewd businessman, his father had raised Azzan and Tierra by himself, teaching them his trade and giving them every shred of love and affection he had. There were many fond memories of a happy childhood spent in Rihad, despite the loss and hardships.

Tierra had been very different from their father: outspoken and mischievous. Just like Azzan, contributing to their father's trade had built up her strength. By the time she was sixteen and Azzan eighteen, she could best him more often than not in their arm wrestling matches. Their father said they were foolish when he saw them compete, but he always said it with a smile.

It was around that time his father was killed and his sister lost. A depressingly banal affair of an attacked caravan along the trade route between Elinihir and Taneth. The nomads had been extremely organized, their target clearly the valuable goods for the Blackcaster mages of Elinhir. There was nothing they could do. Their father tried to resist, took a blade to the gut and a club to the head. Tierra had simply been... lost. Whether she'd fled or been taken, Azzan had never known.

After that, Azzan didn't really have the heart to take up the mantle of his father's already struggling business. He'd sold everything they'd had and left Hammerfell behind. Skyrim and High Rock were too cold to his taste, so the Imperial Province seemed to be a natural choice. Kvatch was too large a city, so he'd settled in Anvil. And there was the Abecean Sea. He loved the sea.

Shaking his head, Azzan picked up his copy of _Night Falls on Sentinel_. He'd let himself daydream again and needed to concentrate on his work. As head of the chapter and resident trainer in blunt weapons, brushing up on his skills was a requirement, and he'd been told there were a few new techniques in the book. It was hard to stay focused though, as it seemed to be nothing more but a story of a woman hiring a mercenary in tavern. Azzan sighed and tried to concentrate once more. It would be time to eat soon, though.

There was barely a knock before the door to his office opened, startling him. Maralie stepped in, carrying a small sack and a haggard expression on her face. That was no excuse though, and Azzan's brow furrowed.

"Left your manners downstairs, Apprentice?"

She frowned, and he really thought she'd bark back an angry reply until her fierce expression melted away. "Apologies, sir, I haven't had much sleep. I brought some food to thank you for the meal yesterday, and to report on Lelles' shop."

As he nodded and motioned to the chair she'd sat in yesterday, he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes had indeed deepened. The woman clearly needed rest. "Tell me."

Maralie sat and opened the sack, retrieving some crab meat packed in wax paper, radishes, apples and a couple of shepherd's pies. Those were definitely a welcome change from his usual meals and he nodded in thanks.

"As it turns out, the thieves had the key to Lelles' Quality Merchandise." His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Former employees," she clarified. "Disgruntled former employees, actually. Wouldn't come in quietly, so Norbert is going to have a bit of clean up to do. And locks to change."

Azzan nodded as they ate. It wasn't unheard of, but it did speak to Norbert Lelles' obliviousness. The contract had turned out to be a lot simpler than he'd expected, but he was sorry she'd had to deal with two nightly stakeouts in a row. Regardless, the job was done. "Well done, here's hoping he'll be more careful in the future. With these two jobs and the work you did for Burz, I'm authorized to promote you to the rank of Journeyman of the Fighters Guild."

She raised an eyebrow, cocking her head with a tired grin. "Journey... man?"

Well, that was a first. "Heh," he chuckled. "You're right, I should speak to Vilena, see if we can't have the ranks renamed. Journeywoman, then." She gave a small nod.

"I don't have any other contracts for you, right now, you should probably report to Vilena Donton in Chorrol."

The chair scraped the floor as she pushed it back and got to her feet. "Alright then, thank you, sir." Nodding once more, she turned away and as the door shut behind her, Azzan found himself wistfully wondering if she'd be back.


	3. Den of Thieves

They were well into Heartfire when news of Kvatch reached Anvil. With the assassination of the Emperor and his sons only a few weeks before, that did nothing to quell the fears of local folk. Azzan started to receive more contracts than ever before. Farmers reported scamps attacking their flock of sheep. Fishermen had spotted clannfear on the shoreline. As a result, most people stayed inside the walls of Anvil now. Travel and trade had slowed noticeably. Reports still came in from Vilena Donton and other chapters, but the Fighters Guild had to ask some of their members to escort couriers from one city to the next. It just wasn't safe anymore.

Azzan had known they were headed for dark times, but... Kvatch razed to the ground?! That was beyond anything he had imagined. He knew little about these things. However, he knew that Daedra in Tamriel meant portals to the plane of Oblivion. That was dire news indeed, no matter how you looked at it. Kvatch was just so close to Anvil... To think he'd almost decided to settle there when he'd arrived in the Cyrodiil... Would the Daedra come to Anvil next? Or would they turn eastward, toward Skingrad and ultimately, the Imperial City? No one knew.

To add insult to injury, there were now rumors of a competing guild, the Blackwood Company. With a sigh, Azzan reached over his desk and once again looked at the copy of the Black Horse Courier. "A New Guild for Fighters?" it read. There wasn't much to go on, to be fair. What was clear, however, was that the Blackwood Company was based in Leyawiin, that would take any and every kind of job. Some of the novices had already defected. "Reckless and indiscriminant," said the Black Horse. "Needless damage to person and property." He shook his head. "No screening process when accepting new members." The Courier ended on an odd, optimistic note, which completely baffled Azzan: "Are they the perfect solution for a quickly changing world? Will their methods force the Fighters Guild to adopt more lenient business practices?" As if the Blackwood Company was a good alternative. More than ever, Azzan needed to have Vilena's opinion on the matter. He hadn't taken the time to ask her about this rising issue, but there was no time like the present. He reached for a quill.

~***~

_Fredas, Heartfire 14th, 3E433_  
  
_ Dear friend,_  
  
_ Thank you for your letter. Your continued dedication to the guild does you credit, and it comforts me to know that you keep things running smoothly in Anvil._  
  
_ You are right to be concerned. The Blackwood Company has been doing much harm, and I believe it's much worse than we feared. I've asked Modryn Oreyn, our Guild Champion, to look into the matter, and will keep all chapter heads informed. With the Divines guiding us, we'll hopefully know more soon enough._  
  
_ In the meantime, take care. Give my best to our guildmates._  
  
_ Vilena Donton, guildmaster of the Cyrodiil Fighters Guild_

Azzan folded and pocketed the letter with a sigh. He'd been in the main hall when the courier and Rufrius had returned from Chorrol with Vilena's letter. They had seemed relieved to make it before sundown. The day was drawing to a close, and Azzan had been hitting the training dummy with his large steel battle axe. It had been so hot these last few days that he'd shed his steel armor, training in nothing but his breeches. He nodded to Rufrius and told him they'd talk over their evening meal. There was still time to beat the dummy into submission.

Crouching back into stance, the Redguard gripped his battle axe and lunged. He tried to ignore the frustration and worry, shoving it all into the back of his mind and focusing on the dummy and his axe. Sweat dripped from his brow as he hit again and again. The heat was stifling. With Sten and Vigdis sparring on the other side of the room, the two Nords circling each other warily, they would need to open a window or two before too long.

Soon enough, Azzan's stomach growled in protest. As he glanced away from the dummy, some of the other fighters were heading to the dining room, including one of the new recruits Vilena had sent his way a few days ago, Maglir, a Bosmer. Twitchy fellow, that one. He still didn't quite know what to make of him.

The head of the chapter was still reaching for his shirt on nearby barrels when the hall's front door opened wide, letting in Anvil's cool salty breeze. "Leave it open," he called as he pulled the shirt over his head. As he surfaced once more, he saw Maralie striding over.

The Dunmer woman hadn't changed in these past few weeks, yet somehow seemed different. Something in the set of her mouth, or maybe her gaze, sharper and fiercer. He had to admit he was glad to see her though.

"Hello there, Swords... woman, is it now?" he greeted her as she approached.

She smiled and her eyes softened somewhat. There was now the muted clinking of cutlery coming from the dining room: his guildmates clearly hadn't waited for him.

"Yes," she answered as the smile turned into a smirk. "Glad to see even chapter heads stay in shape to keep us all in line."

"Careful now," he chuckled lightheartedly. "I might have to demote you for insubordination." The Fighters Guild was strict when it came to members' conduct and the nature of contracts it took, but no one was above a little good-natured ribbing, not even him. "You've done well for yourself, I've rarely seen recruits rise so fast."

Her expression changed suddenly, hard and somber. "I've... done a lot of traveling lately."

"Oh?" That definitely had him curious, as most members typically settled down and remained in their chapter. He really didn't want to pry though. "How was your journey here? I hope you didn't have too much trouble near Kvatch. What we've been hearing has been unsettling, to say the least. Daedra all over the place."

"I..." She nodded, but hesitated. "It was... not too bad. Kvatch is gone though." That definitely sobered them. The loss was truly horrific.

"What did you see there?" he asked, point-blank.

"Daedra. Lots of them." She started fidgeting with one of her small braids, the white hair glistening as she stroked it. He couldn't be sure, but she seemed almost... uneasy. Then it dawned on him.

"You were there, weren't you? You didn't just take the Gold road, you were actually _there_."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he was quite pleased to see that he was as perceptive as ever. A useful skill when you're heading a guild chapter. A few minutes passed as they silently stared at each other, gazes steady. He didn't want to push her, but if she had any information, it could be useful to him. To the Guild.

"Yes." She spoke haltingly, clearly uneasy. "I was there, I saw the Gate. The Oblivion Gate. It was bad." Finally, she averted her gaze. "A lot of people died in the attack." Azzan sighed. He'd heard no one from the guild chapter in Kvatch had survived. It stood to reason that many people had been killed.

"But do you know what happened? Is the Gate still open? What can we expect for Anvil?" When she remained silent, he barreled on. "I have to know if we're to be prepared here." He wasn't sure why she would know more than Vilena or the Black Courier had already told him. A gut feeling, but he couldn't explain it. And he realized he was right as she slowly started nodding.

"Kvatch... no, no the Gate's closed there. But more will come. Anvil, Chorrol, Bravil, Bruma... everywhere."

It was his turn to be surprised. "How... how do you know this?"

"I... I can't tell you. Please." The fierce gaze was completely gone now, anguish in her eyes as she wrung her hands. "I've made a promise, please don't ask me again." A promise?... To whom? To what? She'd already given her allegiance to the Fighters Guild weeks ago, what could possibly supersede... An oath, perhaps.

His jaw firmly set, he nodded. "Very well. As long as you uphold your promise to the Fighters Guild and share what you can for the Guild, I won't press you." A pointed reminder wouldn't hurt, and he was relieved to see her nod emphatically. Suddenly, she seemed so very young, despite her elven features and white hair.

"You here for a contract, then? Come eat with us, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

~***~

As it turned out, Maralie had already met Maglir. Some previous contract Modryn had given her, something about new recruits brewing up trouble in Skingrad. Azzan was somewhat puzzled that he had not been told about Maglir's prior misconduct. Since her son, Vitellus, had died a few weeks ago, Vilena Donton seemed to be getting more forgetful. According to Maralie, Modryn seemed to be taking on more responsibilities, but the transition was not as smooth as everyone would've hoped. There was admiration in her eyes as she'd spoken of her fellow Dunmer, and as much as he hated to admit it, even, no, _especially_ to himself, Azzan had felt a little jealous.

He rolled over in his bed, turning to look at the open window. The stars had barely moved since he'd extinguished his candle. It was going to be another long night of fitful sleep.

~***~

By Morndas evening, Azzan started worrying. They still hadn't heard from Maglir nor Maralie, and he wondered how complicated investigating a few thefts could possibly be. He was alone, loitering in the dining room, playing with the discarded peelings of his apple when the door in the main hall swung open, Maralie filing in with Maglir in tow. It was hard to hide his relief.

"Finally!" exclaimed Azzan as he stood from his seat at the dining room table. He'd picked that particular spot so that he had a good view on the entrance, but no one needed to know that. "How did it go?"

"Thieves holed up in a cave." Maglir grumbled. "They're all dead. Can we get paid now?"

Brow furrowed, Azzan handed him his payment, and the Bosmer marched off without another word. As he passed her, Maralie leaned against the stone wall and smirked at Azzan. As soon as the wood elf was out of earshot, she quipped, "he has a family to feed, you know."

Azzan shook his head in amusement. Everyone in the chapter had heard about this "family to feed," but had never seen nor heard anything about the specifics. Where they lived, who they were. As far as they could all tell, he was just a greedy loner who put himself first. Even before the contract, the Redguard had already decided to write up a report on the recruit. Again, he asked Maralie, "how did it go?"

She sighed and sat down across from him. "Well, Maglir got the gist of it. I asked around in town, and eventually talked to Newheim. Apparently, his prized flagon had been stolen, a family heirloom I believe." She reached over for an apple and started peeling it, the chips of discarded fruit joining his own. This was becoming a habit of theirs, debriefings over meals. Azzan didn't dislike it.

"From what he told us," the Dunmer woman continued. "He'd been ambushed by no fewer than eight Bosmers, and they beat him senseless. Stole his gold and the flagon. As he was slipping away, he still heard them talk about Hrota cave." The Redguard nodded in recognition: that cave was quite close to Anvil.

"They were hiding right under our noses..."

"Not anymore, they aren't." She paused as she ate and Azzan waited patiently. They both settled in companionable silence for a little while. Again, not an unpleasant feeling. As she finished chewing, she elaborated. "I did tell them they'd violated the law, but they wouldn't come in quietly."

Azzan chuckled at that. "They never do, do they?"

"A well placed fire blast and my blade did the rest. Maglir might've fired an arrow, I can't be sure. They're all dead now. And Newheim wasn't the only one robbed, so I turned everything over to the City Watch."

"Thank you for that, the folk here in Anvil will be very grateful. I don't think I could've trusted Maglir to do as much."

"Of course!" she smiled back, and their eyes locked a little longer than necessary. Azzan coughed slightly as he reached for a mug of mead.

"Well, that's that, then." He set the mug down. "I've been given leave to promote you to Protector."

"Oh." She seemed genuinely surprised, as if she didn't realize how much she'd accomplished. "Well, thank you, sir."

He chuckled. "I think Protectors can call me 'Azzan.' Everyone else around here does anyway." He raised his gaze from his mug to Maralie and she was smiling. Nothing like the hard expression she'd worn when she'd entered with Maglir.

"I will." She stood, and started to make for the hall. "Good night then, Azzan."

His heart sank, and his face fell. "Wait, you're leaving? At this time of night?"

She grinned. "Absolutely! I've..." She blushed a little, turning away to stare at the training dummies. "I've actually bought a house here in Anvil. It's not far."

Well, well. She _had_ done well for herself. "A... house?" he echoed.

"Yes!" she smiled brightly. "The old Benirus manor just down the road." Azzan raised an eyebrow. "It needs a few repairs, but it was a steal," she added quickly.

"Oh." Azzan had somewhat looked forward to the idea of having her in the building for a few more hours, as odd as it sounded even to him. He could no longer lie to himself, he... liked her. "Well good night, then."

She waved as she stepped out and her voice trailed behind her in the evening air. "Good night, Azzan."

~***~

A low groaning and the crackling of magicka pulled Maralie from her sleep and a very pleasant dream. _Fetching_ ghosts. There were _fetching_ ghosts in the mansion. She rolled out of bed and grabbed her steel dagger, even though she knew it would be of little to no help. Fire would have to save her this time. As she always said, magic and blade. When one failed, there was always the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Still three chapters though, but in the meantime, I'd love it if you gave me some feedback!


	4. The Wandering Scholar

It would be Frostfall soon enough. Azzan sat on the Anvil docks as the sun slid behind the lighthouse and into the Abecean Sea. He'd always loved the sea. As far back as he could remember, the salty scent of the sea breeze, the sea gulls' cries, the lapping of waves against the shores... Those were all very powerful sounds and smells for him. It all reminded him of the high domes, flying dew sails and mosaic colophones in Rihad, the port city in the south of Hammerfell where he'd grown up. And of course... it reminded him of his father... his sister... Home.

But Anvil was his home now. How many years had it been since he'd left home? Ten maybe? Fifteen? Time sure flew. Azzan sighed and put down his copy of Matera Chapel's _The Legendary Sancre Tor_. He'd tried to seek more wisdom within its pages, but had found only legends of the citadel and its "labyrinthine subterranean complex." Nothing on parrying technique, nothing on weapon balance, nothing that would help train recruits. No sense in being obstinate. At least he'd given himself a few hours out of doors. The sweltering heat of summer was gone now, but the evenings were still pleasant enough.

"They told me they'd find you here, Azzan." A voice called out behind him.

As he turned slightly, he smiled and gestured to the spot beside him on the docks. "Well, hello there, Warder. Been a while."

Maralie dropped down and slung her legs over the water. "Modryn's been keeping me busy, among other things." A flash of jealousy flared in Azzan's chest, but he quashed it mercilessly. He had no right.

"Oh, Sancre Tor," she exclaimed as she spied his discarded book. "I've been there!" She reached over him to pick it up, and he resisted the urge to breathe in deeply.

"Let me guess?" he smirked. "You can't tell me."

She chuckled as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages. "You guess correctly." They didn't say anything for a while as the shadows lengthened.

"So how's the house coming along?" he asked. Seemed like a neutral topic, since she had neither asked for a contract, nor volunteered more information.

She scoffed, and he wondered if he'd made a serious blunder. "Turns out I got it cheaply for a reason," she explained. "It was haunted."

"Huh. A haunted manor," he pondered as the sun started slipping beneath the horizon. "That explains a lot."

She turned her head to peer at him. "How do you mean?"

"Well," he turned to her, "local folk would say they heard ominous sounds as they walked past it in the evening. Most people thought it was rusty hinges on the window panes, or roof tiles falling off."

"That _fetching n'wah_," she cursed. "He knew it was haunted. Everyone knew it was haunted." She'd produced a small flask and took a sip from it before offering it to Azzan.

"Who?" he asked as he took the flask and brought it to his lips.

"Velwyn Benirus, the one who sold it to me. He knew his grandfather Lorgren had cursed the place."

Azzan sputtered, both at the news and at the strong taste of alcohol in the flask. "By the Nine, what _is_ that?!?" he protested as he handed her the flask back.

"Daedric lava whiskey," she grinned. It was almost night now. Azzan pondered the options.

"Do you need the Guild's help to clear the place out?"

"Oh no," she laughed brightly. "That's been handled already. It was a whole affair, involving a Tome of Unlife, a Staff of Flame and dragging that spoiled Imperial back here by the ear. It was actually rather hilarious, in retrospect. You should've seen it."

"Heh..." he sighed. "I would've liked to." As they turned to smile at each other, Azzan's breath caught. Her red eyes almost seemed to glow.

"You know..." she started hesitantly, "feels like I never get a good night's sleep here in Anvil." She broke off and studied her boots. "I kinda blame you..."

Well, that was fair. Those first two contracts hadn't been the easiest. At least the next one would be more straightforward. He hoped.

"Here's hoping tomorrow goes well, then." He had to remember his duties as head of Guild chapter. It wouldn't do to let emotions get in the way. "There's a scholar from the Mages Guild I'd like you to accompany to a Daedric shrine."

She groaned and threw her head back. "Ugh, why is it always Daedra?!?"

"Aren't you our resident expert?" he teased as he elbowed her in the ribs.

"Oh, Azzan, you have no idea," she replied as she pushed back. He wondered what she meant, exactly. There was mirth in her voice, but also... something else.

"Well," he started tentatively...

"You can't tell!" "I can't tell!" They exclaimed in unison and laughed heartily.

The Redguard got to his feet and offered a hand to help the Dunmer woman up. "Will you dine with us tonight?" he asked hopefully.

As she straightened, she echoed, "us?"

"Yes. The Guild. Vigdis, Sten, Rufrius, Rhano, Llensi, Huurwen..." he trailed off when she didn't answer, her expression unreadable. "Even Mojo will be there."

Her gaze dropped, and she chuckled at the mention of the Guild's resident dog. "Yes. Yes, of course." Was that... disappointment? He couldn't be sure.

"Shall we head back?" And they did.

~***~

Maralie stood outside Brittlerock Cave with a tall Altmer sorceress. Elante of Alinor was wearing a bright green silk dress and rubbed at her cheek, the black ink stain smudging further. She didn't seemed dressed for the task at hand and appeared all too cheerful for someone who was researching Daedra shrines. Maybe she secretly worshiped Sheogorath.

As the other woman flipped through some pages in a heavy book, Maralie sighed and tapped her foot.

"Should we go in? Isn't this the place?"

"Yes, yes, in a minute, I need to be sure..." But the Dunmer woman would never know what seemed to be the problem, as the Altmer just retreated back into her book and to her thoughts.

The salty sea breeze rushed in from the Abecean sea and Maralie threw her head back for a minute, closing her eyes and enjoying the morning sun. It would start getting cooler soon enough. And after these past few weeks, she couldn't say she'd particularly miss Last Seed and Heartfire. After Kvatch, bringing Martin back to Cloud Ruler Temple, infiltrating the Mythic Dawn shrine, closing gates left and right all over Cyrodiil, rummaging around Sancre Tor for some old armor... She was so tired. After everything that had happened, she could barely remember her life in Ald'ruhn. Was it all still there? The Rat in the Pot Inn where she'd spend her evenings playing cards with other guards? Under-Skar with all its arrogant inhabitants? Buckmoth Fort with all its paranoid soldiers?

And her mother. Was Boldrisa Andrano still there, serving House Redoran? She'd taught Maralie everything she knew. Everything. And she was probably very disappointed by what had happened. Maralie sighed again, and sat as Elante showed absolutely no signs of being ready to proceed. With a small whetstone, she started sharpening her blade, the repetitive motions a comfort. So much had happened since being thrown in the Imperial Prison, she really did need to write home eventually. Mother would worry. At least she could tell her she'd been exonerated of all charges of treason. In a way.

They certainly couldn't charge the Hero of Kvatch with treason now, could they? In fact, she wondered that news about Kvatch hadn't spread further. No one recognized her, but come to think of it, it did make some sense. After all, she hadn't seen any likeness of her in the Black Horse Courier. And there were enough fools in taverns claiming the credit to render any report unreliable.

That suited Maralie just fine, however. She liked these little forays into a semblance of normalcy. These Fighters Guild contracts where she pretended to be just like everyone else. The conversations with Azzan, the easy companionship that came to them. She couldn't deny it was a very attractive prospect: settling here in Anvil, and... but that train of thought was perhaps better left unexplored. It felt... almost painful at times, yearning for something you couldn't have. Maybe some day. Once the Mythic Dawn had been dealt with, once Martin sat on the throne.

She looked over at Elante. The Altmer was now sitting in the grass and digging through her bag for another book. Maralie got to her feet and readied her weapon, a ball of flame in the other hand.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll go take a look before you head in. Just a bit of scouting. Is that alright? You'll be fine out here, won't you?" She'd seen the mage throw a fireball at a rabid wolf; she probably wouldn't be in much peril.

All she saw was the mage's hair-bun bob up and down, so she pushed inside.

~***~

The candle burned low and cast long shadows in the dark office as Azzan sat, once more, hunched over piles of parchment. These latest reports were very concerning. As he had feared, the Emperor's death and Kvatch were just the start. There seemed to be Oblivion gates opening up all over Cyrodiil, just as Maralie had predicted. This was no longer a simple affair of clannfear or scamps loose in the countryside. Gates. With daedroths, xivilais and dremora by the score. Anvil was a fair bit out of the way, but the City Watch had still issued a town wide warning to stay within the walls and to only travel if absolutely necessary. Naturally, he expected orders from Chorrol to be more fewer and far between now...

There was such a huge disconnect with yesterday's evening, first on the docks with Maralie, and then with the entire chapter gathered around the large oak table in the dining hall. As chapter head, he had to be realistic: there was a very solid chance some of them wouldn't make it to Heartfire, let alone Evening Star and the end of the year. There were pieces of the picture missing, but enough to cause concern.

It was times like these he missed his sister, a twin soul he could always confide in. His guildmates would have to be told some of what was happening: there would be no escaping the gossip and Black Horse Couriers. He would try to shelter them from the depth of his disquiet, but it would've been nice to talk to Tierra. Azzan rose from his desk and stood before his window, seeking comfort in the quiet of the town square.

There was a knock at the door, but he didn't turn as he called out "come!" At least he could expect some safety in the Guild chapter.

"Azzan?" The soft sound of Maralie's voice, laden with unease, made his breath catch in his throat and he spun around. She'd shed her leathers for a... dress?!? A dress made of... black velvet? She seemed decidedly uncomfortable in it, as if she had slept, eaten and fought in leathers all her life and now felt naked. ...That train of thought was best left undisturbed. He feebly tried to recover.

"Maralie!... I... wasn't expecting you til morning."

Her gaze darted to the corner of the room and she drew a ragged breath before replying. "Yes, well... I have to leave before dawn." Her eyes circled back and she looked down, wringing her hands together.

"Ah." He dared not press her on the matter. It had become abundantly clear that she had places to be, people to see, things to do, that all lay beyond the walls of Anvil. As much as he hated to admit it, that much was obvious. Still, she was a Warder of the Guild, and he'd given her a contract to fulfill. "What about the scholar? The shrine? Everyone in one piece?"

The mention of her mission seemed to give her some confidence back she stepped into the room and looked at him squarely now. "Yes, absolutely. The shrine was a little too close to Kvatch for comfort, but we made good time and arrived there mid-morning. I cleared the cave of Daedra, she stayed a few hours to study statues and painted reliefs, and then we made our way back to town."

Maralie stepped closer, a smirk slowly spreading on her lips. She was so close he could see white strands of hair escaping the small braids. Azzan's heart raced. "You know... I _can_ handle more. You don't have to give me the easy contracts."

He laughed at that, shaking his head in amusement. "I'll take that under advisement... Guardian."

The Dunmer's eyes widened slightly at the promotion and he nodded, confirming the fact. "That's right, you're being promoted. Burz says you did good work with the prison break fugitives, even though he wished they'd come peacefully. There wasn't much chance of that, though, I suppose."

"No... not much chance," she echoed. She seemed almost dazed, for some reason. When Maralie didn't move or speak, Azzan tried to.

"I don't... outrank you anymore..." He felt drunk even though he'd had neither ale nor mead. Taking a small step forward, he reached for her hand and threaded his fingers with hers. The Redguard's heart leapt in his throat when she didn't snatch her hand away.

"...Rank..." she repeated.

And then Maralie lunged forward and kissed him hungrily.

~***~

The screeching of the seagulls woke Azzan shortly after dawn. He turned over in his bed, but found nothing but empty sheets. Burying his face in them, he tried to seek the scent of her. It felt as if she'd never been there at all. Regretfully, he rose and made his way to the basin near the dresser, splashing cool water on his face before dragging a clean shirt over his head. As he tugged it down, he saw a small note on the dresser with five words in a flowing script. "I wish I could stay." Nothing else, just those five words.

Azzan found himself wistfully wondering _when_ she'd be back.


	5. The Stone of Saint Alessia

Sun's Dusk. It was _Sun's Dusk_ now. The thought kept circling around in Azzan's head as he sat on a crate at the Anvil docks, a copy of Reven's _King_ in his hands. The chill wind rolled into the harbor and he was glad for the extra padding beneath his steel armor. These days, he never left the Guild without it. Not long after Maralie left the last time, an Oblivion gate had opened right outside of Anvil. It had eventually closed, but in the meantime, it had taken all of the Anvil City Watch's efforts, as well as the Fighters Guild's, to keep the Daedra at bay. At least the city still stood. The same could not be said of Whitmond Farm.

As foreseen, these were difficult times. They had also received word from Chorrol, and the news was decidedly of the "bad" variety. Vilena Donton's younger son had fallen, and it seemed there had been foul-play. By both Vilena and Modryn's accounts, the Blackwood Company was to blame. There would be more trouble out of them before the year's end, of that he was certain. In the meantime, the Guild was in a bit of a disarray. It was the only reason why he'd been asked to handle this theft in Bruma, instead of Bumph gra-Gash or Right-Wind in the local chapter.

With a sigh, Azzan once again tried to focus on the book Irene Metrick had sent him from the Imperial City a few months ago, flipping through the pages. By the Nine, he could not fathom why she believed he would learn new techniques in a supernatural story about a Nord prince who'd grown up in a home without roof nor walls. As he found the paragraph where he'd stopped, something about an incident in a tavern in Kravenswold, a note fluttered out from between the pages and started gliding down. Seizing it before it could land in a muddy puddle, the Redguard realized, to his great chagrin, that he'd wrinkled it. With great care, he smoothed out the creases as he stood and read it once more.

_I wish I could stay._

Maralie... He still hadn't heard from her. Perhaps she was dead. Perhaps she'd forgotten him. Perhaps she had been conscripted into the Imperial Guard. That last hypothesis seemed the most unlikely to him, but he'd ran any and every scenario in his head these past weeks. The Daedra pouring out of the Oblivion gate had almost been a welcome distraction. But he was powerless. He didn't know where she was. He didn't even know if she was dead or alive. The only action he'd allowed himself was to leave her a note at the Benirus manor she now owned. Nothing overcomplicated, a simple invitation to dine at the Guild hall. He didn't trust himself to put into words what he felt. He didn't even know if he actually knew what he felt.

Dejectedly, he turned and started to make his way back to the chapter. Night fell earlier now, and though the docks of Harborside were safe enough, there was always this niggling feeling that they were all safer behind city walls and indoors. And surrounded by a drove of well-armed members of the Fighters Guild. As he passed through the Anvil Dock Gate, he waved at the guard manning it. Azzan definitely didn't envy the man, as he'd be standing out here all evening in the cool night air. Thankfully, it wouldn't be long before he himself was back in the warmth of the Guild hall.

When he arrived in front of the Count's Arms Inn, Wilbur, the proprietor, was on the front porch feeding his two dogs. As he waved to his fellow Redguard, Azzan suppressed a slight pang of guilt: with all that had been happening, Mojo had not had much opportunity to leave the immediate area of the Guild Hall. Perhaps now would be a good time to take him out for a stroll. After all, with everything that had been happening, and how busy they all were with helping keep the peace... Perhaps they could go to the gardens at the Chapel of Dibella. With the graveyard nearby, the place was quiet and perfect for contemplation. He wasn't very religious, but... By the Nine, he prayed Maralie was alive and well.

As he arrived on the square, about to head into the Guild hall to fetch Mojo, a glimmering light stopped Azzan dead in his tracks. The shutters of the Benirus Manor were open. There was a candle in the window. _Someone_ was there.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Azzan willed his feet to move along Guildgate's pond, Mojo completely forgotten. His walk became a trot and then a run. The rational part of him was urging caution and screaming, "but it could be an intruder!" And the other part, his... heart? was arguing that no intruder would bother to light a candle. Before too long, he stood at the front door, breathless and no longer shivering in his armor.

He raised his fist to knock and then... he hesitated. Azzan, head of the Anvil Fighters Guild chapter, master of axe and mace, slayer of bandits and Daedra, hesitated. What if she didn't want to see him? What if she'd been avoiding him? Perhaps she... didn't feel the same about him? This was absolutely ridiculous; he was a grown man, after all.

Suddenly, the door opened and he stood there, fist in the air, completely dumbstruck.

It was Maralie, standing in the doorway, a look of complete surprise on her face. Her white hair cascaded to her shoulders, the small braids nowhere to be seen. She seemed haggard, as if she hadn't been sleeping or eating as well as she should have been. The rough leathers had been replaced with elegant, yellow armor, which seemed both fragile and sturdy all at once. The dirt of the road was still visible on it.

Lowering his fist, Azzan coughed to recover from his embarrassment. This had to seem incredibly bad to her, perhaps rude or even creepy. "I'm sorry, I... don't mean to..." He coughed again. "I saw your light and thought I'd say..." What _had_ he been thinking he'd say? He'd had weeks to think of what he'd say, and now here he was. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

The Dunmer seemed thoroughly amused, however, as a small smile graced her face. "I'm glad you're here," she simply said, and seemed a little less tired as she spoke.

"Oh," he replied, somewhat astounded and completely ineloquent. Azzan started to smile too. "Me too."

They both smiled, and then Maralie grabbed his steel breastplate and pulled him inside for a kiss.

And he kissed her back.

~***~

Some time later, Azzan lay on his back staring up at the ceiling's wooden beams, wondering how he'd even got there. There were probably pieces of steel and elven armor, as well as padding and clothing, strewn all over the place. In the entryway, the foyer, the dining room, the stairs, the balcony, and... the bedroom. His book was probably somewhere downstairs too, discarded, forgotten in the fray. But the bedroom. He was in _her_ bedroom. Somehow, that still hadn't quite sunk in.

And yet, here she was, curled up against his left side and softly snoring. Which was actually quite endearing. Small wonder though, considering how tired Maralie looked. Azzan dared not move, he feared breathing in too deeply would wake her. He would have to at some point, though. They still hadn't eaten, and hunger would soon make itself known.

It was completely dark outside now. The window besides the bed overlooked the garden behind the manor and, beyond it, Anvil's eastern wall. He was quite glad there were neither houses, nor paths, nor people, as they'd neglected to close the curtains. The lone candle was still downstairs, presumably, but the light of Masser and Secunda shone through the glass and threw small shadows on Maralie's face. Those white cheekbones, her white eyebrows, those lips... By the Nine, she was beautiful. Before he could catch himself, he brushed strands of hair behind her slim, pointed ears.

In a flutter of white eyelashes, the Dunmer's eyes opened, and she sighed contentedly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you," Azzan told her as he turned to face her. That was the truth, no doubt about it.

She grinned sleepily. "That's alright, I'm the one who should be apologizing for falling asleep."

"You were clearly tired. I should've let you rest."

"You fool," she exclaimed as she shoved him playfully. "I meant it: I _am_ glad to see you." Those red eyes were positively hypnotizing sometimes. "I'd just arrived, and I meant to stop by the Guild to say..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged, a candid smile on her lips. "Well, I hadn't quite figured that part out, since I didn't know if you would be."

That caught him off-guard. "Would be what? Happy to see you?" Azzan pulled her close, his heart aching with the remembered anguish. "Maralie, I was afraid you were dead."

"I'm not," came the muffled reply and he released her. "I'm sorry, I tried to send word, but there never seemed to be a right time, and I didn't know what to say, besides which, we hadn't really had time to talk, and..." She was rambling. Completely disarming. Where was the fierce, focused warrior who'd walked into his office months ago? "I was supposed to come back earlier," she added, "but... it's complicated."

Cupping her chin in his hand, Azzan looked her right in the eyes, willing her to know how relieved he was that she still walked Nirn. "You can't tell me. I understand."

"But, Azzan, I _want_ to," her eyes were almost pleading. "I want to tell you so very much. But it's dangerous. I just can't..." At that, she lowered her gaze. "In fact, we probably shouldn't even be together, they could find me, even here in Anvil."

Once more, he held her close, this time in a feeble attempt to soothe her fears. "Maralie... I'm no fisherman. I can handle myself."

"I know, it's just... Be careful. Even with people you know. That's all I can say." Her fingers clung to him, as if she feared he'd vanish in a puff of smoke.

They lay there in each other's arms for a while, in hushed silence... until Azzan's stomach growled. With a chuckle, he untangled himself as she shoved him playfully onto his back and propped herself up on her elbows. The view was very distracting.

"Should we perhaps try to find something to eat?" he asked with no small measure of mirth in his tone.

"Maybe," she teased back. "But I'm not sure I have anything here."

Azzan groaned in disappointment. He didn't want to leave the manor. "We'll have to head back to the Guild then."

She paused, somewhat taken aback, and studied him curiously. "If we go back together, you know there will be talk."

Sitting up in the bed, Azzan circled her with both his arms, looking down into her wide eyes. "I don't care." She had to know. She had to know how much she meant to him.

"You... don't." She seemed almost puzzled and a pang of fear shot through him.

"Wait... do you?"

Her laugh was almost painful in its candor, as she shook her head and white wisps of hair danced around her face. "Of course not, you _s'wit_."

"Oh," he answered simply as they both slid back down beneath the sheets. He didn't want to go anywhere at all and stared at the ceiling again, one arm folded beneath his head and the other wrapped around her waist. Maralie nuzzled against his chest and sighed.

A few minutes later, she said, quite serious: "We can't let this change everything." At first, he didn't know what to reply.

"But it will."

"... but it will," she conceded. "It's just that..." As he looked down, she was biting her lower lip. "I have to leave for Bruma soon."

Well. He knew better than to expect that she'd come back to settle here. Though he had to admit to himself that he hoped for it. As long as his duties to the Guild held him here, he could not follow where she went, even if she had permitted it. And there was nothing that led him to believe that she would.

"Bruma, huh? Funny."

She sat up again, her voice imperial and commanding. "What about Bruma? Out with it, Azzan."

Nothing ever got past her, it seemed. "No, it's nothing, just a stupid contract, don't worry about it."

All of a sudden, her eyes were pleading. "A contract? In Bruma? Oh, please, tell me what it is."

"Absolutely not, you clearly have more pressing concerns," he was adamant. He would not be the one to add to her burdens.

"Please, I'm begging you, Azzan. Give me this, some contract so I can pretend I'm just another member of the Fighters Guild on a mission. I _need_ this."

There she was. There was the fierce, defiant fighter, not a hint of 'begging' in her voice. He had to relent, there was no other way. "Very well," he sighed mournfully.

The Dunmer snickered gleefully, an odd sound. "Tell me what it is! Drunken Nords making trouble at the inn? A kidnapped noble? Perhaps thieves again? Or... let me guess..." Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "More rats?"

He howled in laughter at the mention of their first meeting and had to wipe tears from his tears. When he finally caught his breath, he was grinning. "No, no rats, I can promise you that much. But you will have to deal with thieves of some sort: the Stone of Saint Alessia was stolen from the Chapel of Talos." He smiled brightly and held her tight. "Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

"Hmm," she nodded and kissed him. "Well... may I leave after tomorrow?"

Azzan's face split into a wide grin and he nodded eagerly at the implication. "Of course." He'd have to hand things over to Rufrius and think of some excuse, but after the last few weeks, he owed himself that much. "Now, shall we see if they'll have us at the Hall tonight?"

With a smile and a nod, they got up and started hunting for what was left of their clothes.


	6. Light the Dragonfires

The week that followed Maralie's departure was the hardest yet. They'd spent one utterly marvelous day together in the Benirus Manor. Some of it he tried not to think of too much lest it get uncomfortably hot and tight in his armor. They'd also talked. She'd told him about growing up on Vvardenfell, in Morrowind, and he'd told her about his childhood in Rihad, in Hammerfell. She'd spoken of her mother, and he'd told her about his sister. When he'd mentioned Tierra, Maralie had perked up and described a fierce Redguard woman in the Kvatch City Watch. He dared not let himself hope, but the feeling had crept in regardless. Tierra was not a common name among Redguards, perhaps this was indeed his sister. He'd penned a letter that very evening.

After that perfect day, the pair unfortunately had to return to their respective tasks. The first days were difficult, Maralie's absence a tender hole Azzan dared not probe too much. His guildmates seemed to have guessed some of what had occurred between them, but there was no good-natured ribbing, no lewd remarks. They just left him to his own devices, mostly. Except for Vigdis who seemed to wear a concerned look every time he left his office to spar or eat. It was as if she was worried he'd let himself waste away. Interestingly enough, Mojo, who had never seemed to show any particular preference in the past, had now decided to claim Azzan's office as his primary residence. A hound's head in one's lap often made reading and writing reports more complicated.

Exactly five days after Maralie had left Anvil, chaos erupted. The entire chapter was called to arms as several Oblivion gates opened immediately outside the Anvil city walls. There had been smoke, fire, ash everywhere. And Daedra. Plenty of those to go around. A lot of the City Watch had fallen and they'd lost Rufrius to a Xivlai. In addition to the grief they all felt, Azzan would have to find a new second-in-command: perhaps Rhano was ready to be promoted to Protector.

The fighting had lasted an entire afternoon and through most of the night. And then, right before dawn and when things seemed most dire, the gates closed and the flood of Daedra finally stopped. None of them really knew what was happened until news came from the Imperial City two days later. Countess Millona Umbranox had summoned Azzan, Langley from the City Watch, and Carahil from the Mages Guild. In Anvil Castle's Great Hall, she relayed Chancellor Ocato's news and told them all that had transpired since the assassination of Emperor Uriel Septim VII and his three sons on the 27th of Last Seed. How the Emperor and his Blades were attacked as they fled the Imperial City, and a former prisoner was made a Blade and entrusted with the Amulet of Kings. How the Mythic Dawn, worshipers of Mehrunes Dagon, were behind the assassinations. She told them about Martin, the Emperor's illegitimate heir, a priest in the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch. How the Daedra attack on the city had not been a coincidence, but an attempt to wipe out the Septim line.

Azzan knew little of such matters, and Uriel VII had been Emperor long enough for the memory of the particulars of succession to fade. However, most folk knew the Emperor was not just a simple head of state, but the guardian of the barriers between Tamriel and Oblivion. Only an Emperor could relight the Dragonfires that kept those barriers up. With the throne empty and the fires cold in the Temple of the One, it stood to reason that the Mythic Dawn and Mehrunes Dagon had had ample opportunity to attempt to destroy their world.

The Countess had gone on to explain that this mysterious former prisoner turned Blade had not only retrieved the illegitimate heir from Kvatch, but also broken the siege. The former prisoner was now being hailed as the Hero of Kvatch, but no one seemed to know who they were. Finding the heir had only been the beginning and the Blades soon found themselves in an impasse - the Countess was vague on the specifics. By the time the Blades had resolved the issues which the Mythic Dawn had thrown in Martin's path to the throne, the veil between worlds had grown impossibly thin. As the Blades had escorted Martin back to the Imperial City to be crowned, Mehrunes Dagon had appeared, and Oblivion gates had opened all over Tamriel. The only thing that had saved them all was Martin's transformation into an avatar of Akatosh which cast Mehrunes Dagon back into Oblivion, sealing the breach between worlds forever.

At the end of this account, Carahil, Langley and Azzan had stared at each other, completely dumbstruck. They had been saved by an Emperor they had never and would never know. For the moment, Chancellor Ocato and the Elder Council ruled, much like they had during what Countess Millona called the Oblivion Crisis. The future was uncertain, but at least they had some assurance that the Daedra would no longer be harassing the city.

It took him a full afternoon before he was ready to tell the news to his guildmates. In their faces, he saw not just the grief for Rufrius but also his own bewilderment mirrored. He assured them that life would return to normal, and while that might hold true in the grand scheme of things, the Fighters' Guild's future was still unsettled. There was still the Blackwood Company causing trouble. Regardless, they did eventually settle in a new routine in the following days, a routine which mostly consisted of accompanying the City Watch as they cleared the outskirts of any remaining Daedra. Azzan joined them as often as he could. It helped. It helped to feel useful, to be of aid to the citizens of Anvil. And the local farmers were eager to return to their homesteads.

It helped take his mind off of Maralie.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. He saw her dead a hundred different ways: ambushed by a highwayman on the Gold Road, disemboweled by a clannfear, crushed by an angry ogre, torn apart by mudcrabs, beheaded by members of the Blackwood Company, immolated by a fire atronach, mauled by rabid wolves, slain by a daedroth. Some of those fears were irrational, others... not so much. Wherever she was, he prayed the Nine she was safe.

~***~

One day blended into the next as life slowly trickled back to some semblance of normal. The farmers had returned to their homesteads, working the land once more. The fishermen took to the sea once more, hauling in their catch every day at the Anvil docks. The roads were now freely open to travel and trade had started to return to the city. There had been no news from Chorrol, however, and that was worrying.

Vilena was probably still grieving, but there should have at least been reports on the Guild's status, whether or not any other members had been lost during the last Daedra onslaught. There should've been a reply after he sent news of Rufrius' death and Rhano's promotion to Protector and second-in-command at the chapter. But nothing came. Not from Vilena, nor from Modryn.

One Tirdas morning, he was meeting with Carahil in her office. When Azzan had taken over the Guild chapter all those years ago, the two of them had met every week to share what information they could. Sometimes Carahil had contracts for the Fighters Guild, sometimes Azzan would ask for potions of healing. They had settled into an easy partnership, but over the years, their meetings became fewer and far between. With the Oblivion Crisis behind them, they had resolved to resume that habit.

Azzan was lying back in the chair across from Carahil as she told him about an issue the Mages Guild needed help with, a rogue mage attacking travelers near Brina Cross Inn or something along those lines. To tell the truth, he had trouble concentrating.

"Azzan?" Carahil prodded him and he started upright. He was decidedly less focused than he would've liked.

"Yes, absolutely Brina Cross Inn, sure, I can send someone," he fumbled as he tried to recover.

The Altmer didn't even have time to chide him as a knock came at the door. Llensi's head appeared in the doorway, a bright smile on her face. "Azzan, I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's someone at the Guild to see you. The Fighters Guild, that is."

He sighed: the timing was less than ideal. "Alright, have them come back this afternoon, I'll see them then."

"I... I'm sorry, but..." Stepping in the door, she shifted nervously from one foot to another and back again. "I'm pretty sure you'll want to come right away."

Azzan frowned at the tone in the Dunmer Apprentice's voice. This seemed quite urgent. News from Chorrol, perhaps? He would have to see to it immediately. The Redguard turned back to Carahil and spoke deliberately, "I deeply apologize, Carahil, but as you can see, there's some Guild business I need to attend to. May we reschedule? Tomorrow morning perhaps?"

"Yes, of course." The Altmer woman nodded as she turned to her own pile of reports neatly stacked in a corner of her desk. Still, he would have to make it up to her.

The two Guild chapters stood next to each other on the town square, so it wasn't long before Llensi and Azzan stood in the Fighters Guild's main hall. The only other person there, however, was Rhano, pounding away at a training dummy with his sword. He looked up, briefly, to grin at his fellow Redguard.

"She's upstairs in your office," he simply said. Puzzled, Azzan looked back at Llensi, who only smiled and shrugged before taking a training shield from the rack. Leaving his two guildmates to their sparring, he climbed the steps to the first and then the second floor. There had been no sign of Mojo, which was odd. The hound should've been waiting for his return in the main hall...

As he neared his office door, Azzan located the hound, yips coming from within. And when he pushed the door inward, he found it on his back, paws turned skyward. With Maralie crouched beside him and rubbing his belly.

When she looked up and beamed at him, words failed him utterly. She stood, he crossed the room in two steps and before he knew it, in the deafening clang of armor against armor, he'd crushed her in his arms. What he hadn't expected was how tightly she would hold on to him.

Time stood still for a while, and then he loosened his hold. Her serene grin sharply contrasted with the maelstrom of emotions raging within him: relief mostly, but also yearning, affection, mirth, and a barely suppressed impulse to berate her. It was hard to think straight.

"Thank the Gods, you're alive," was the only thing he managed to eventually say as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. She'd worn it in a ponytail today, and he couldn't stop looking at her, drinking in her image as if she'd suddenly vanish.

Maralie chuckled softly at that, dropping her gaze to his chest, not meeting his eyes. It was then Azzan noticed her smile wasn't serene as much as it was... sad?

"This past fortnight, it's been..." she sighed.

Azzan knew where this was going, they'd been down that path before. "Complicated," he finished for her. "I know, and it's fine. You can't tell me, but I don't care. I'm just glad you're alright." All this felt quite familiar.

"No, Azzan," her gaze snapped back up and bore into him. "You're wrong, that's the thing. I _can_ tell you everything now, and I want to, it's just..." She looked down again, and suddenly seemed very, very tired. "Hard," she finished.

Something clicked or shifted, he wasn't quite sure, and it suddenly dawned on him. She knew the Kvatch City Watch. She'd been at Sancre Tor, rumored to be the final resting place of Reman Cyrodiil. She knew a lot about Daedra. The realization hit him like a cart full of bricks rolling down a hill at full speed.

"You're..." he struggled with the words of it. "You're that former prisoner turned Blade. You're the hero of Kvatch." If he kept this up, he'd be sputtering before too long. "They're... they're calling you the Champion of Cyrodiil, you know!"

She wasn't studying his armor anymore, but their boots. Somewhere in the jumbled mess that was his mind, Azzan wondered what could she possibly be afraid of. Finally, the Dunmer woman looked up, somehow seeming rueful, relieved, distressed and pleased all at once.

"Took you long enough," she mumbled with a tired smile on her lips. That probably should've wounded his pride, but he was long past caring. Something clicked again, and all of a sudden, he knew what he needed to say.

"We can't let this change everything," he told her very deliberately. A grin spread across her face.

"But it will," she replied back. They'd done this before, it seemed.

"But it will," Azzan echoed, and he cupped her chin in his hand, kissing her slowly. It changed nothing. He loved her for she was, and loved her even more because, or perhaps despite, of what she'd accomplished. Her fingers snaked into his short hair, sending shivers down his spine. As they parted, he noticed she still had that haggard look she'd borne two weeks ago.

"Are you alright?" he asked and she nodded tiredly, but resolutely.

"I will be." She hesitated before continuing. "The Empire lost its heir, but I lost a friend." It felt like a confidence, like the beginning of her telling him 'everything'. "Martin and I argued half the time, but we were close." Azzan's face must've betrayed him, because the sadness in her eyes was replaced with faint amusement. "Not _that_ kind of close."

He chuckled at his own irrational jealousy. She was here. In his office. In his arms. Once again, he pulled her close, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, you know."

The words hung there, and though he did not realize it at first, he held his breath. They didn't move for what seemed an eternity. Then, she pushed away from his chest and looked straight up at him.

"And I love you, Azzan."

Relief broke through like crushing waves over a dam, and he poured all of that into another kiss. Her lips matched his pace. When they broke free from one another, they were slightly breathless.

"So, Champion of Cyrodiil," he teased, "will you stoop to having lunch with a lowly Fighters Guild chapter head?"

"Well, that depends," she replied, barely suppressing the giggles in her voice, "will you agree to breaking bread with someone who outranks you?"

"Outrank? What do you mean exactly?" He wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"I'll explain later, but I've a letter from Modryn for you and I'll need to leave for Chorrol tomorrow." Azzan's face fell somewhat, and she absolutely noticed. "I'll come back," she grinned in reassurance. "I'll always come back." They kissed once more.

And here he'd thought today was just another day in Anvil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing from a man's point of view, so you have any comments, please be sure to pass them along. Thanks so much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like what you're reading so far! Any feedback is appreciated, negative or positive. If it's positive, do consider pressing that "kudos" button, thanks!


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